


Return to Sender

by 37years



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Post-Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7732105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/37years/pseuds/37years
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian and Caleb run into Mickey, newly released from prison, on the street. Mickey is stunned to learn how Ian recalls their relationship. Caleb wonders if Ian has been telling him the truth. Caleb asks Ian to describe his actual relationship with Mickey, and when Ian does, Caleb realizes Mickey and Ian’s story is far from over. Ian realizes he needs to apologize to Mickey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return to Sender

**Author's Note:**

> I was on the fence about posting this. Shameless is a show that treats 80% of its content as comedic fodder. But for some reason, I was so uncomfortable with how Ian described his relationship with Mickey, that I needed Ian to explain himself. There is also a double standard with Ian and Mickey that I point out. I don't excuse the abuse, but it's such a gray area, I'm not sure that I do. Anyway, I'll leave you to it.

Mickey hadn’t seen them until they stood directly in front of him with intertwined fingers and wearing uncomfortable expressions. And by that point, it was too late.

“Shit. Mickey?” Ian said. He maneuvered out of his boyfriend’s clasped hand. At least, Mickey assumed the broad-shouldered, and admittedly handsome, black man was Ian’s boyfriend. Not for the first time this week, Mickey wanted to die. He suddenly cursed his early release from prison.

Gallagher looked well. His hair was lighter, shorter than Mickey remembered it, but he seemed healthy. This new guy must be good for him. Mickey felt sick. He thumbed his lip and cast his eyes to the sidewalk. A police car sped past, sirens wailing, and Mickey flinched. When he glanced up, both men were looking at him with pitying expressions. Christ, could his life get any more fucking pathetic?

“Caleb,” Ian began. “This is Mickey.”

Mickey didn’t gesture for a handshake as that had never been his style, and to Caleb’s credit, he didn’t make a motion to reach for Mickey’s hand either. In fact, Caleb was squinting at Mickey in such a way to make Mickey’s skin itch. 

“So, you’re the abusive ex?” Caleb said, before turning to Ian. “The one who punches before he fucks?”

“Jesus, Caleb,” Ian breathed.

Mickey stepped back like he’d been shot. Why were Ian’s exes always wounding him? He couldn’t believe Ian would describe him like that. His chest rose and fell like he was having a goddamn asthma attack. He couldn’t catch his breath. “That’s what you told this motherfucker? That’s some revisionist history bullshit, isn’t it?” Mickey’s trembling voice betrayed his hard stance. 

“Mick, I didn’t mean --”

Mickey rubbed at his chest, right above that godawful tattoo. He spat at Caleb, “You seem like a nice guy so I’m going to warn you. Just when you truly care about him, and love him, that’s when he’ll fucking clock  _ you _ in the mouth.” He pushed past them. “Now, if you’ll fucking excuse me, I have to pick up my son.”  
  


#

Ian picked at the dry chicken breast, which was overcooked. He’d been so distracted by his encounter with Mickey that afternoon, he hadn’t paid attention to the oven temperature. “Sorry, about dinner,” he told Caleb.

“It’s alright.” Caleb dropped his fork and sipped his wine. “You want to talk about it?”

Ian shrugged. “Not really.”

Caleb sighed. “Well, I do. Your ex is pretty intense.”

Ian laughed. That was one way to describe Mickey, but definitely not the first word to come to mind for most people. “Yeah, well he’s a product of his upbringing. We both are.”

“What did he mean about you clocking him in the mouth?” Caleb watched Ian intently. Ian knew that look. Caleb was trying to see the truth in Ian’s face, since Ian wasn’t honest in his choice of words. “You made it seem like Mickey hit you all the time. Did you hit him?”

Ian ran his hands through his hair and pushed his plate away. The dry chicken would only get caught in his throat. “I punched him in the mouth, unprovoked.” Caleb narrowed his brows and Ian could tell he was losing him. “My meds.”

“Your meds? That’s not an explanation,” said Caleb.

“Fine. Mickey had been taking care of me, worrying about me all the time, fretting over me like a goddamn nurse and I was sick of it. I missed the way we used to be, the way I used to be, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I hit him.”

“Then what happened?”

“He hit me back. We kissed. We fucked. Is that what you want to hear?” Ian’s voice was tight. 

“How did you two even get together?”

“Jesus, Caleb.” Ian rose from the table and stormed to the fridge to retrieve an ice cold beer he’d been saving for when Caleb wasn’t home. He twisted the cap off the bottle and chugged it. 

Caleb remained calm, which only infuriated Ian more. 

“I get that this is a touchy subject,” Caleb said, “but I’m  _ asking _ because I want to understand you better.”

Ian leaned against the fridge. “What do you want to know?”

“How’d you two become so dysfunctional?”

Ian smiled, despite himself. “It’s a long story.”

“Simplify it.”

“Okay.” He sipped the beer, relishing the buzz. It didn’t take much for Ian to get drunk and he’d never appreciated that aspect of his condition more until now. “Mickey was the local thug. He’d been stealing from the convenience store where I worked. I was fifteen, he was seventeen. Anyway, one day, when I wasn’t there, he stole a gun from the store owner, a guy named Kash, who I’d been sort of dating.”

Caleb cocked his brow. “Screwing?”

“Yeah, he was also, like, thirty.” Ian figured if Caleb wanted to know the real Ian, then he wasn’t going to hide anything. Sometimes, Ian thought his bipolar diagnosis was the worst part about him, but when Ian laid out his story like this, he realized he had done a lot of amoral and questionable things. “Anyway, Kash pulled the gun on Mickey. Mickey hit Kash and stole the gun, so I went to Mickey’s house to get it back.”

“Badass,” Caleb said.

“Yeah, well, it was stupid in hindsight. Mickey’s father was drunk on the couch in the living room. And Mickey had never been one to underestimate. Anyway, I grabbed a tire iron from the front porch, stormed into Mickey’s room, and demanded the gun back.” Ian paused. How did he explain this next part? “We fought, physically. Mickey threw a punch, got me in the eye. I threw him back against the wall. Mickey got the upperhand though, and straddled me on top of his bed. I thought he was going to beat me with the tire iron.”

“But he didn’t?”

Ian shook his head. “He dropped it. We stared at each other and then something clicked. For both of us. We stripped off our clothes and --”

“Fucked.”

“Yup.” 

“That’s some meet-cute if I ever heard one.”

“Yeah, well our lives definitely weren’t a rom-com,” Ian mused.

“So, you two became a thing after that?”

Ian sucked in his bottom lip. “I guess. We’d meet and screw in the back of the Kash and Grab. That’s what I meant about the not kissing shit. For two years, our relationship was pure fucking.”

“But something changed?”

“Yeah. Mickey changed. Slowly, over time.” Ian smiled wistfully remembering Mickey’s jealousy over Ned. “Anyway, we were stealing shit from an old boyfriend’s ex-wife. Long story. He kissed me in the van, in broad daylight, but not where his cousins could see. After that, everything felt different between us. I knew Mickey loved me. But then his father caught us.”

“Jesus, Ian.”

Ian hated remembering this part. His voice shook and he felt tears sting his eyes. “He beat the shit out of us. Then he called a Russian prostitute to fuck Mickey in front of me.”

Caleb pushed his plate away in disgust. “Wait, is this the thing you mentioned at my cousin’s wedding?” Ian nodded. “Shit, Ian. I thought you were joking. That really happened?”

Ian rubbed at his eyes. “Yeah. The result was Yevgeny, Mickey’s son. Mickey’s father forced him to get married. When I had confronted Mickey about it, he beat me up.”

“I don’t understand how your relationship survived that.”

“It probably wouldn’t have, but after I went AWOL, Mickey found me dancing at the club. I’d been doing ecstasy and I passed out in the snow. Had he not waited, I would’ve went home with this old guy, but that’s not the point. He came for me. Fuck, he came  _ out _ for me, in front of his dad, too. And when I got diagnosed with bipolar, he made sure I got on my meds. He was up all night reading articles on my condition. He was trying so hard to keep me healthy and then I got arrested. And he got thrown in jail for trying to kill my half-sister.” 

Caleb rose from the table now. Ian guessed he’d heard enough now. Ian wondered if Caleb was going to ask him to pack his shit and go. He wouldn’t blame him.

“I’m not gonna lie, your relationship was dysfunctional. Crazy. Completely unhealthy. Abusive on both your parts. But, you made it seem like you’d been this victim of his when in fact, you’re as much to blame. I can see why he looked at you like that today.”

“Looked at me how?"

“Like you betrayed him,” Caleb said simply. “You guys had been through so much shit. But it seemed like Mickey changed for the better, and you resented him for it. Is this what I’m in for? Are you going to hit me if I start to care too much?”

“Fuck, no. It’s not the same. Mickey and I were just kids.”

“And now?”

“Now, I’m an adult. I know how to take care of myself.”

Caleb tilted his chin at the beer in Ian’s hand. “You’re not honest. Not with me and not with yourself.”

“I’m telling the truth now.”

“Fine. Answer me this, did you love Mickey?”

_ I like how he smells.  _ “Yeah, I loved him.”

“Still do?” 

Ian didn’t have to consider his response, but if he took too long to answer, Caleb would know anyway. “Yeah. Still do.”

#

Mickey slammed the now empty bottle of beer on Kev and Vee’s kitchen table. “He told that prick I was abusive. Like Kenyatta. Can you believe it?

“Well,” Vee said. “I recall Ian’s face banged up and bruised on more than one occasion.”

“Okay, smarty pants, A, I didn’t do that, and two, do you know how many times Ian hit me?” 

“It’s not a competition,” said Kev as he bounced one of his daughters on his knee. 

Svetlana emerged from the kitchen with another beer for Mickey. She handed it to him and he grumbled a thanks.   


“Carrot Boy is Dostoevsky novel,” Svetlana said.

“The fuck does that mean?” asked Mickey.

“He thinks his story is dark and tragic.” 

“The thing is,” Vee said, “had either of you been a woman, there’d be a restraining order in place.”

Mickey sipped the beer. The cold liquid ran down his throat, but did little to alleviate the fury swarming inside his body. Vee was right. Had one of them been a chick, they’d be no better than Mandy and Kenyatta. The thought made him sick. It also seemed a painfully unfair comparison. 

“That’s not how we were,” Mickey said. “I can tell you I’ve hit Ian exactly twice. The first time was when he came into my room brandishing a tire iron and the second was when -- it’s not important. The thing is, we weren’t like that. It was never like that.”

Svetlana patted Mickey’s shoulder. “I know that. Carrot Boy knows that too.”

“So why does he say that shit, then?” Mickey chugged the beer and wiped his hand across his mouth.

Svetlana shrugged. “So he misses you less. So the hot boyfriend isn’t jealous. Because he’s crazy in the head.”

“That’s not fair,” Mickey whispered. 

Vee smiled kindly. “Why don’t you talk to Ian about it?”

“Fuck that,” said Mickey. “If that prick wants to explain himself, he knows where I live.”

Kev shook his head. “Isn’t that how you two started all this in the first place?”

Mickey flipped Kev off.

#

Mickey’s work boots pounded the pavement. Ian watched as Mickey took a final drag on the cigarette before flicking the butt into the gutter. Apparently, Tommy had gotten Mickey a job on his demolition crew, legitimate work, that produced new muscles on Mickey’s shoulders and chest. Ian's chest tightened and he wondered if he could bolt without Mickey noticing. Why was he such a coward?  


“Hey,” Ian said.  


Mickey jumped. “Fuck. You scared me.”

“You walk the street with your head down,” Ian noted. “I thought you had more sense than that.” Ian meant for it to sound like a joke, but if Mickey’s face was any indication, the humor had been lost.

“What the fuck ever. What do you want?” Mickey stopped outside the gate in front of his house. Ian could see the fatigue dripping off him. If Ian was going to say what he came to say, then he needed to make this quick. 

“I came to apologize,” Ian said.

Mickey thumbed his lip. “Apologize for what? Because there’s a long list and I'm tired.”

Ian exhaled. Mickey was punishing him, rightfully so. “For starters, I’m sorry about how I spoke of you to Caleb.”

Mickey stared at him, his brows cocked, waiting for Ian to continue.

“I don’t know why I said the things I said.” Ian leaned against the chainlink fence. He was still wearing his EMT uniform, and he imagined the butt of his black pants were grimy with the dirt from the fence, a small price to pay for this moment.

“You don’t know?” Mickey bit his lip and furrowed his brow.

Ian shook his head.

Mickey turned to hustle up the front stoop, clearly done with Ian and the conversation.

“Okay, wait,” Ian called after him. “I do know.”

Mickey turned around, his arms out at his side, gesturing for Ian to continue. 

“I was throwing myself a pity party at your expense. I wanted someone to feel bad for me since you weren’t here anymore and my family was dealing with their own shit. It was fucked up and stupid and made me look like an asshole. Also, it wasn’t true.”

“You tell him that? The boyfriend?” asked Mickey, his voice soft, barely audible.

“Yeah. You and I weren’t like that. I know that. We were a lot of crazy things, but we -- you -- were loving and loyal and good. I didn’t deserve you in the end.” Ian’s voice shook slightly and tears had formed in the corner of his eyes. He hadn’t expected that. He pressed his fingers into his eyes, hoping to stave off the crying. 

“I don’t think I deserved you either,” Mickey said. He stood on the other side of the fence, staring at his boots, which he scuffed along the sidewalk. “I’m an ex-con and a royal fuck-up.”

Ian laughed. “Maybe that’s why we  _ do _ deserve each other -- now.”

Mickey looked at him, his eyes soft. “I don’t know, Ian.”

“You were my first love,” Ian said. “And somehow, you’re going to be my last. I’ll make sure of that.” Ian patted the fence post twice, preparing to walk away. “I’ll  see you around. Look for me. Don’t want to scare the shit out of you when I call your name.”

“Okay, tough guy.” Mickey laughed, then smiled, a gesture so pure, so light, Ian couldn’t force himself to leave. So instead, he did the only honest thing he could at that moment. He grabbed the front of Mickey’s shirt and brought him in close for a kiss. 

Mickey didn’t pull away. 

  
  
  



End file.
